


Truce

by imaginary_golux



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Cabin Fic, F/F, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 22:23:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6132010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_golux/pseuds/imaginary_golux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rey and Phasma are trapped in a small cabin in the middle of an ice storm. Things proceed...predictably.</p>
<p>Beta by my Best Beloved, Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truce

“Well this is...crap,” Rey says, looking out of the cabin at the swirling snow. Her prisoner, looming behind her, grunts agreement. “There’s no way anyone can land in this.”

“My troops will also not be attempting any attack,” Phasma agrees. “Even the snowtroopers would have difficulty in such a storm, and I am not so valuable as to be worth the loss of entire troop carriers.”

“So the way I see it,” Rey concludes, turning to look at Phasma, “is that we can both sit up until the snow stops because we don’t trust each other and we’d try to kill each other as soon as the other falls asleep...or we can agree to a truce until the storm is over.”

“You could render me unconscious with the Force,” Phasma points out.

“Yeah, and then you’d _freeze to death_ ,” Rey retorts. “It’s already cold as _balls_ in here.”

“Colloquial but not inaccurate,” Phasma sighs. “Very well. A truce. I will do you no harm until the storm is over.”

“Same,” Rey agrees, and holds out a hand. Phasma shakes it. “Kriff, your gauntlets are _cold_.”

“The metal does conduct heat rather more swiftly than is desirable in these conditions,” Phasma agrees, and begins stripping off her armor. Rey gawks for a moment, then shrugs and begins exploring the cabin. The little wooden structure has two rooms, a larger one with an ancient bed and a fireplace and not much else, and a smaller one with what looks like a privy hole. Rey is not looking forward to pulling her trousers down long enough to do her business - the wooden seat looks _cold_.

“If we break the bed apart, we could build a fire,” she suggests as she returns to the larger room. Phasma turns from stacking her armor neatly beside the fireplace and nods.

“We can use my armor as heat-reflectors,” she recommends. “If we put the blankets in front of the fireplace, we may be able to survive until the storm is over.”

“Sounds good to me,” Rey agrees, and they work for a few minutes in oddly companionable silence. Rey stacks the blankets and arranges the armor around them, while Phasma breaks the bedframe apart with easy motions of her broad hands and piles the resulting pieces in the fireplace.

“I have no fire-starting apparatus,” Phasma observes once she is done. Rey grins at her.

“Stand back,” she says, and thumbs her lightsaber on, touching it briefly to the pile of wood and turning it off again as soon as the fire begins to flare.

“Your control is very good,” Phasma compliments her.

Rey grins as she settles down on top of the blankets, pulling one up around her shoulders. “Let me guess, Kylo Ren would have set the whole place on fire?”

“It is very likely,” Phasma confirms, sitting down beside Rey and draping her own cloak about her shoulders.

They sit there watching the flames for a while, and then Rey says, “Why do you stay with them?”

“I am a Stormtrooper,” Phasma says mildly. “It is what I was born to do.”

“Yeah,” says Rey quietly. “But you can choose something else, you know. I was born to be a Jedi, but I could put this lightsaber down and _go_ , and no one would stop me. I choose to stay.”

“We will bring order to the galaxy,” Phasma says.

“Order is stagnation,” Rey replies. “Order is _death_. Life’s not orderly. Life’s not like an engine, where you have to have all the pieces in just the right place or it won’t work at all.” She shrugs. “I mean, too much chaos isn’t exactly good _either_ , half the time I think the whole Resistance is running on spit and prayer and the good will of Jessika’s eight thousand household gods, but too much order is a recipe for failure.” She thinks. “Even an engine, the parts need enough room to _move_.”

“You are not going to convince me to become a Resistance fighter in an evening’s conversation,” Phasma says, still mildly. Rey grins.

“Fair,” she says. “Shit, it’s cold.”

“Yes,” Phasma agrees, and then, rather more tentatively, “It would be sensible for us to share body heat.”

“Yeah?” Rey says, and shrugs, and tucks herself against Phasma’s side. She’s enough smaller than the other woman that she can snug up under Phasma’s arm quite comfortably, and with Phasma warm against her and the blanket and cloak draped over both of them, it gets noticeably warmer. “You pick something to talk about, or I can just meditate,” she offers.

“Did you really do _that_ much damage to Kylo Ren?” Phasma asks instantly. “He claims it was mostly you and not FN-2187, but I know FN-2187 is well-trained enough that he could have done it.”

“Mostly me, but Finn got a few good hits in,” Rey replies. “And it is Finn, now, you know. He’s not your Stormtrooper anymore.” She hums. “Did the injuries scar?”

“Badly,” Phasma says.

“ _Good_ ,” says Rey fiercely, and then, a little sheepishly, “Master Luke would say that being so glad for another’s misfortune is a grievous error and will lead me towards the Dark. But I hope that asshole thinks about how close I got to killing him every time he looks in a kriffing _mirror_.”

“What is it like?” Phasma asks. “The Force?”

“It’s like...once when I was a scavenger, I put my hand on a live wire.” Rey holds her left hand out to show the burn-scar across her palm. “It’s a little like that. There’s all this _power_ , but if you use it wrong it’ll burn you up as fast as you can take a breath. Control is _hard_. It _wants_ to burn, to light things up, to lift spaceships and mind-control crowds and make a conqueror out of its user. That’s why Kylo Ren is so...wild. It’s why Master Luke went and hid on an island for so long.”

“Huh,” says Phasma thoughtfully. “You’re stronger than Kylo Ren is - that’s simple enough to see, even for me. You could come take his place, be Mistress of the Knights of Ren, make the First Order into something _you_ approve of. Let your Force do what it wants to do.”

“No,” says Rey, though she slants half a smile up at Phasma, “no more than you’re going to defect to _us_ just because I asked you to. I don’t bow to anyone, much less this Snoke fellow who’s running the First Order. Good try, though.”

Phasma shrugs. “Had to ask,” she says. “It’s getting colder.”

“Yeah,” Rey says grimly. “And the storm is _not_ over yet.” She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, then another. All the hair on the back of Phasma’s neck stands up and a weird thrill goes through the air. “It’s going to be another few hours at least,” Rey says, sounding a little distant. “Cloud cover in all directions for fifty, sixty miles.”

“A useful skill,” Phasma says as Rey opens her eyes again.

“Yeah, but not as useful as being able to keep us warm,” Rey says. “Thoughts?”

“Sharing body heat works better with fewer layers between bodies,” Phasma says promptly. “We could build a fairly good cocoon bedroll with these blankets and my cloak.”

“...I am going to have so many people offer to buy me a drink for this story,” Rey says slowly. “Let’s do it.”

Phasma is pale all over, courtesy of a life spent in armor, while Rey is pale and tan in patches depending on where her clothing covered while she was on Jakku. They are both in peak physical condition, Phasma all muscle and broad shoulders and battle scars, Rey sleek strength and grace and deceptive frailty. They don’t take more than a moment to look at each other, though, before sliding into the cocoon of blankets and spreading the cloak out over them, pulling Rey’s draperies over to cover their heads in a sort of canopy.

They have to wriggle a little to get comfortable, and eventually Rey ends up on _top_ of Phasma, draped over her like yet another blanket. “No one is ever going to believe this,” Rey observes, muffled by Phasma’s collarbone.

“I would be hard-pressed to convince anyone of the veracity of such a tale,” Phasma agrees ruefully. “Move your knee, please.”

“Sorry,” says Rey, moving her knee so it’s not digging into Phasma’s leg so sharply. “You put out heat like a sand-dune.”

“You are remarkably warm yourself,” Phasma observes. “I have not had reason to share body heat since training.”

Rey chuckles and raises her head, propping it on her folded hands on Phasma’s chest so she can see her unlikely companion’s face. “So, first time for both of us, then?”

Phasma raises an eyebrow at her and laces her own hands behind her head so she can see Rey more easily. “You are not sharing bedspace with FN - with Finn?”

“Thanks,” Rey says, knowing that that was Phasma trying to be polite in this uncomfortable situation. “And no. He and Poe are kind of sickeningly gone on each other, and Master Luke says Jedi aren’t supposed to have intimate attachments. I’m not sure he’s right, but he’s my teacher, so for right now I’m doing as he says.”

“Poe is the pilot,” Phasma says, and sighs. “Finn was going to be my successor.”

“He’s the General’s right hand,” Rey informs her. “And he’s a lot happier there than he would have ever been with the First Order.”

“Happiness is irrelevant; obedience to the First Order is all that is required,” Phasma replies calmly.

“Yeah, that’s depressing as all kriff,” Rey says. “Isn’t there anything that would make you happy? Something you like to eat, or something you’ve always wanted to do? Somewhere you’ve dreamed of going? Someone to love?”

“My life is the property of the First Order,” Phasma says. “I will obey them until I die, and I will die obeying them.”

“They’re not here right now,” Rey points out. “No one here but me, and I won’t tell your bosses anything you tell me. They can’t even mind-rape it out of me: Master Luke’s taught me how to protect my mind from them. Whatever you tell me won’t go any further than this.”

Phasma considers this. “I’ve wondered how people outside the First Order arrange to share bedspace,” she says at last. “For us - for Stormtroopers - one shares bedspace with an officer if ordered, or with a subordinate if one gives orders. But if, as you say, Finn is General Organa’s assistant, then he is of equal rank with Commander Poe Dameron, and not in the same chain of command. How does that work?”

“Kriff, your bosses are awful,” Rey sighs. “It’s about...about wanting to. Haven’t you ever wanted to...to kiss someone?” She shrugs. “I mean, I don’t usually, but there are a lot of pretty people in the Resistance, and some of them would be fun to kiss. As long as you both want it, then that’s good. That’s...that’s as much as I can tell you from personal observation, anyhow.” She grimaces. “Did you...do you get commanded to share bedspace a lot?”

“Not often, and hardly any at all these days,” Phasma says, shrugging a little. “I was not an attractive cadet, and also I intimidated my superiors. These days, my superiors are mostly General Hux and Kylo Ren, and neither of them cares to command me to their bed. Kylo Ren does not take _anyone_ to his bed, and General Hux prefers women who are smaller than he is.” She considers a moment, then adds, “I don’t ever command anyone to _my_ bed, because I must admit I don’t see why anyone bothers. It was an uncomfortable chore the few times I was ordered to perform it.”

“That...is kind of awful,” Rey says slowly. “I mean, I’ve never shared my bed, but I’m pretty sure it’s supposed to be fun. Like when you touch yourself, only better.”

“Touch yourself?” Phasma inquires.

“Kriffing hell,” Rey says. “Right - Finn said you weren’t supposed to do anything but sleep in barracks.”

“What else would you do?” Phasma says, honestly baffled.

“I may have been seriously deprived, on Jakku, but at least I had _orgasms_ ,” Rey says aggravatedly. “Look, it’s...it’s hard to explain.”

“Show me, then,” Phasma invites.

“What?”

“Show me. There’s nothing else to do while we wait for the storm to blow over but sleep, and I am not yet weary.”

“Uh,” says Rey. “That’s...uh. Wow, I can never tell _anyone_ this story. They’ll never believe me. Let me just be clear on this: you want to...um...share bedspace with me? So I can show you how it can feel good?”

“Yes,” says Phasma calmly.

“Great,” says Rey faintly. “Because a virgin running entirely off of masturbation and Finn’s disturbingly detailed descriptions of his evenings with Poe is _definitely_ the best choice for that. Uh. Fine. I got this.” She gives Phasma half a smile, wriggles up until their heads line up, and kisses Phasma gently.

It is, though Phasma’s not inclined to tell Rey this, her first kiss. None of the officers who ordered a young Phasma into their bed - back before she was Phasma, back when she was AS-1643 and nothing more - particularly wanted to kiss her. It’s...surprisingly nice. Rey’s lips are soft and gentle, and when Phasma opens her mouth to Rey’s seeking tongue, she finds that Rey tastes good, like mint.

Rey pulls back and gives Phasma a searching look. Phasma nods. “Good,” she says, because she believes in giving feedback, and in any case Rey is doing her a favor. Rey nods back, and kisses Phasma again. It’s just as good as the first time.

“Tell me if anything feels really good, or doesn’t feel good at all,” Rey says, and wriggles back down Phasma’s body again, pausing to kiss Phasma’s cheek and the line of her neck and the curve of her collarbone. The kisses are warm and sweet, and Phasma likes them well enough, but then Rey moves down far enough to get her mouth on one of Phasma’s breasts, and her tongue is warm and agile and mind-bogglingly wonderful, and Phasma makes a truly embarrassing sound of pleasure.

“Good,” she says again, hoarsely. Rey looks up and grins - her white teeth are visible even in the dim light of the dying fire filtered through their blanket cocoon - and then lowers her head and applies herself more thoroughly to licking and suckling and even biting gently at the curve of Phasma’s breasts, the nipples standing up proudly. Phasma grits her teeth against the moans of pleasure which want to echo from her throat. Such sounds are ammunition, things for one’s enemies to use against one - but Rey is not, here and now, Phasma’s enemy, and after a moment’s thought Phasma unclenches her jaw, with something of an effort, and lets her moans be heard. She is rewarded when Rey redoubles her attentions. Stormtroopers are not encouraged to swear, and Phasma has never really felt the desire to do so - not when her feelings could be adequately expressed in other ways - but now she can’t help but think that Rey’s oaths are strangely appropriate to the situation. “Kriffing hell,” she says, and Rey lifts her head again. “More?”

“Yeah,” Rey says, and slides further down, careful not to dislodge the blankets, leaving kisses and bitemarks down Phasma’s torso. Phasma shivers beneath her. Eventually, Rey manages to curl up between Phasma’s legs, crouched a little awkwardly under the blankets, and Phasma can’t see her anymore - can’t track her movements except by feel. And what she _feels_ is Rey’s mouth again, warm and wet, on places that Phasma has for most of her life ignored.

The noise she makes is both loud enough to drown out the storm and raw enough that she is glad there is no possibility of any other living beings close enough to hear. “ _Good_ ,” she says, and Rey chuckles - _kriffing hell_ , Phasma thinks, and tries to spread her legs a little wider against the cocoon of blankets.

Then there are _fingers_ , long agile fingers, and Phasma can’t even quite keep track of what is happening. Phasma pulls one of her hands from under her head, reaches down to roll and tug at her own nipples in the hopes that it will feel half as good as what Rey did - finds that it does.

Phasma is panting now, harsh and desperate for something - she does not know what - and then Rey does _something_ with her fingers, her tongue, a touch of sharp teeth, and Phasma gasps, loses her breath entirely, and feels herself come apart around Rey’s fingers. For a moment she actually thinks the coals have managed to spit sparks, and then she realizes that the flashes of light are behind her eyes.

“Good,” she manages to say after a long moment. “ _Very_ good.”

Rey crawls back up to sprawl across Phasma’s chest again. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” Phasma confirms, and pulls Rey a little closer and kisses her. She can taste her own fluids on Rey’s lips - strange and a little sour, but not bad. “Will you instruct me in returning the favor?”

Rey blinks down at her. “You don’t have to,” she says dubiously.

“Nevertheless, I would like to,” Phasma replies evenly. Rey thinks about it, then shrugs.

“Alright then,” she says, and kisses Phasma again.

The hours that follow are something of a blur to Phasma, as she learns an entirely new skillset - one she never even dreamed of wanting to have - and has more orgasms than she had actually thought she was capable of.

Eventually they are actually so warm that Phasma tugs the gauze down away from their heads, and Rey sprawls out over Phasma’s chest, panting happily. She’s light enough that Phasma doesn’t really mind. It’s almost comfortable, actually.

“So, still not interested in switching sides?” Rey asks lightly.

“No, but I thank you for the offer,” Phasma tells her, tucking sticky hands behind her head again comfortably. “And yourself?”

“No, but thanks. Being a dark queen might almost be worth it with you next to me,” Rey offers, grinning.

“I thank you for the compliment,” Phasma says gravely.

Rey glances up at the roof. “Storm’s starting to blow over,” she observes. “We should maybe get dressed. My side will be here as soon as it’s physically feasible - maybe sooner.”

“My troops will doubtless return for me also,” Phasma agrees, and they get dressed quickly, hissing through their teeth at the chill in the air. Rey darts outside and brings in a handful of snow, and they scrub their hands clean in front of the coals. Phasma puts her armor on, grateful that it has indeed retained some heat from the fire, and Rey wraps a few of the blankets around herself before helping Phasma attach her cloak properly.

“There,” she says, grinning up into Phasma’s face. “Now no one will know how we just spent the last few hours.”

“Indeed,” says Phasma, and bends to kiss her. Rey makes a soft surprised sound and kisses back happily.

Outside, there is the unmistakable sound of troop transports setting down. Phasma and Rey leave the cabin at a trot, separating to join their respective allies. Phasma gives the hand-signal for ‘stand down’ as she approaches her troops, hearing Rey behind her call out, “Finn! Poe! Master Luke! It’s alright - we have a truce - can we get off this ball of ice?”

The Stormtrooper leading the rescue mission - GL-2133, if Phasma remembers correctly, which she does - comes to attention as Phasma nears him, salutes with eager efficiency. “Captain Phasma,” he says. “We are glad to find you unharmed.”

He means it, Phasma realizes. He cares. He _cares_ what happens to his captain.

That’s a thing.

“We have a truce,” she informs him, voice cool and calm as ever. “Prepare for departure.”

“Yes, Captain!” GL-2133 says.

Phasma does not look back.

*

Six weeks later, General Leia Organa looks up as the proximity alarms begin to whoop. “Four troop transports incoming, ma’am,” the lieutenant on duty says, sounding more than a little panicky. “First Order engine emissions!”

“Well shit,” says the General. “Battle stations - and get me my brother!”

The transports do not land. Neither do they fire. Instead, after a few nerve-wracking minutes the poor panicked lieutenant says, “General! Transmission for...er. For you and Jedi Knight Rey!”

Leia turns to look at Rey, who shrugs. “No clue,” she murmurs. “Maybe Kylo Ren wants to try single combat again?”

Leia shrugs back and taps the _accept transmission_ button on her terminal. The screen statics briefly and clears to show a Stormtrooper in chrome armor, her helmet tucked under one arm. Rey makes a startled sound.

“Captain Phasma,” Leia says dubiously.

“General Organa,” the Captain replies. “Rey. I find I have no desire to stagnate.”

Rey draws in a sharp breath. “Really?” she says, sounding utterly flabbergasted.

“Do not mistake me,” Captain Phasma says coolly. “I have no desire to join your Resistance. It is chaotic and undisciplined. But I and my troops will fight beside you until the First Order is defeated, and we will not be your enemies unless you make us so.” Her lips quirk in a tiny grin. “Though we will require remuneration for our services.”

“Are you telling me that you have four troop transports’ worth of mercenaries that you’re willing to hire out to the Resistance?” Leia asks, having followed at least _that_ much of the conversation.

“Precisely, General,” Captain Phasma replies. “Provided our requirements are met. Primary among them food, pay, and promise of protection from prosecution.”

“C’mon down and we’ll dicker,” Leia invites. _This_ , at least, she can handle.

“Truce,” says Rey, beside her. “Truces seem to work well for us.”

“Indeed,” says Phasma, and Leia resolves to never, _ever_ ask.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Truce](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13583493) by [sophinisba](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophinisba/pseuds/sophinisba)




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